Page 37 of Ethan & Grace

I looked around for my mum, but she wasn’t back yet. I texted James that it was starting, and then put my phone away. I did my best to creep out of the courtroom without drawing attention, but my dad noticed anyway. Ignoring his warning look, I stepped out into the corridor and followed the signs to the women’s restroom. I pushed open the door carefully and peeked in.

“Mum?”

There was no reply, but I heard a quiet sob, as if someone was trying to muffle the sound with their hand. My heart cramped. God, I should have checked on her sooner. I slipped into the room and went over to the cubicles. Only one door was closed.

I knocked. “Hey, is everything OK?”

The only sound was the hum of the ventilation.

“Mum. I know you’re in there.”

Another sob. It wasn’t quite as bad as the cries of pain I’d heard from Grace, but it came pretty close. I hated seeing my mum like this. She was far from perfect, and had her fair share of flaws—she was vain to a fault and could sometimes be condescending—but still, this broke my heart.

I knocked again. “Could you please open the door?”

She finally seemed to realise that I wasn’t going to go away if she kept ignoring me. I heard the trumpeting sound of her blowing her nose, then a shaky voice. “I’m fine. I’ll be out there in a minute.”

It was painfully obvious that she wasn’t fine, and there was no way I would stroll back into the courtroom to support my dad while she cried in the restroom, needing me. I’d only come today for her sake, after all.

“I’m not leaving you here alone,” I said. “Open the door. Please.”

“Ethan . . .” she pleaded.

But I wasn’t going anywhere. If I did, nothing would ever change. She’d continue breaking down in secret, over and over, covering it up afterwards with thick layers of makeup. She refused to show any weakness, because we lived in a society where looks were everything. Where our public image counted for more than what was happening inside us. And where power and influence were number one, and compassion, empathy, and love played only minor roles.

“I’m not leaving.”

“But—”

“No buts, Mum. Either we go back in together, or we don’t go in at all.” I leant against the wall. “For all I care, we can spend the entire trial in here.” In fact, I would have preferred it, especially since I was pretty sure the hearing had already begun, and all eyes would turn to us if we went back in now—assuming they even let us in again.

My mum unlatched the cubicle door and stepped out, her shoulders squared in an effort to keep her composure. Still, she looked incredibly small and fragile, her posture obviously only a front. Her face told the truth: eyes swollen, lashes clumped together with tears, and makeup completely smudged. I had never seen her like this before. And though it wasn’t easy, I mustered a smile to give her courage.

“How bad is it?” she asked, avoiding the mirror.

“Nothing we can’t fix.”

I pushed myself away from the wall and took her Birkin handbag from her. She always carried a makeup bag inside it. As I set the handbag down next to the sink, my eyes fell on the hip flask tucked between her purse and a small notebook. My stomach tightened, but this wasn’t the time to bring it up. I pulled out the makeup bag, which, as I had hoped, contained makeup remover wipes.

I pulled one out of the packet and stepped closer to my mum. She was still avoiding the mirror, as if afraid of her own reflection. “Tilt your head up.”

She lifted her chin hesitantly. Her brown irises were clouded. She didn’t meet my eyes as I started wiping the mascara streaks from her cheeks. “You shouldn’t be seeing me like this,” she said hoarsely. Her breath now reeked even more strongly of alcohol.

“Stunning as ever, you mean?”

“You’re just as charming as your father,” she replied with a snort.

“I’d rather you didn’t compare us.”

Her lips trembled, as if she were about to start crying again. “He wasn’t always like this.”

“He has been for as long as I can remember,” I said bitterly, fighting against the old memories that were trying to force their way back to the surface. Suppressing them had cost me years of my life and too many parties, and I wasn’t ready to face them again.

“Your father loves you. It’s just hard for him to show it.”

“Why are you defending him?”

She shrugged. “Because I’m his wife.”